


Crème brûlée

by Jewelbug



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Getting Together, M/M, One Shot, Restaurant Critic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewelbug/pseuds/Jewelbug
Summary: Yusuf is a restaurant critic in modern-day Berlin. He meets Nicky, the owner of a recently opened café. Everything would be perfect, if Nicky wouldn't hate the reviews Yusuf writes.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	Crème brûlée

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker, so if there are mistakes, please look past them. I hope you enjoy both the story and the art. It was such a joy to work with the amazing and sweet @shatterthefragments.

When Yusuf found himself staring longingly out of his office window for the third time, he decided to finally give in. There was no use in staying inside and staring at the sunlit streets beneath him, the people in summerly light clothes, eating ice cream, drinking coffee and having a good time – _outside._

He sighed, closed his laptop, and packed it into its slightly shabby bag. One of the handles was almost torn off; he knew he needed a new one, but doing all the paperwork necessary to have work pay for it seemed such a hassle that he always put it off. He gathered his notes and crammed them into the bag. It did not bother him that they were crushed in the process; they were mostly just loose sheets with single words or incomplete sentences scribbled on them. 

When he left the building, the heat of the day hit him like a wall to the face. For a moment, he wished himself back into his air-conditioned office, but no – he had decided to make the best of the day, and he would not allow himself to turn back. 

The building that housed the offices of _Living_ , the magazine Yusuf worked for, was situated just off Friedrichstraße in Berlin. The address was still prestigious enough to possess a certain glamour, but still affordable – at least more affordable than office rooms directly at the Friedrichstraße would have been. Yusuf liked working here – it was easy to reach the place with public transport, and it was close to a lot of shops and department stores he liked to visit, and on summer days like this one he liked to walk along the river Spree for two or three train stops and enjoy the weather after work. 

_After work_. He sighed again, shifted the bag’s strap on his shoulder and started to walk towards the rails of the urban train system that ran through all of Berlin. In the vicinity of Friedrichstraße, the trains had been built as an elevated railway, with big arches to support the brick structure that carried the actual rails. These arches now housed a range of cafés, restaurants and such places, and Yusuf thought about going there, sitting down in the cool air of one of these cafés, watching the people walking by and writing his article. 

He made his way there, enjoying the heat of the sun and thinking about what drink he would order – a black coffee, the classic? Or was it too hot for that? Maybe one of these artisan lemonades that became so popular during the last years? Or he would indulge his inner teenage girl and get himself an iced latte. 

When he arrived at the railway, he walked past the first two cafés because they were too crowded for him to actually get some writing done. The third one, though – _Third time’s the charm_ – had a banner over the door, announcing in bright colours: _Newly opened – housemade confectionery – fine cakes & baked goods!_ Instantly, Yusuf’s professional curiosity was stirred, and he entered. The decoration wasn’t so different to what the usual coffee shop interieur displayed: some lush, inviting armchairs grouped around low coffee tables, chairs standing around higher tables in groups of threes or fours, and the inevitable bar table in the window. There was something for everyone: the tourists that needed a break from their walk through the hot city, the students and other people like Yusuf who needed a place to work, and those who came in to while away some time. 

Yusuf chose one of the tables in the back of the café, where he would still be able to watch the coming and going of other customers without being too distracted. When he went to the counter to order something, he was greeted by a young, dark-skinned woman with cornrows. She was busy with putting cupcakes into the display, but took the time to smile at him. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute”, she said. “Take your time to pick.” 

And time he would need, Yusuf realized. The glass case was filled with the most delicious looking, mouth-watering sweets he had ever seen. The top row was confectionery: chocolates, petit fours, small biscuits that were meticulously decorated with chocolate and frosting. Beneath them were muffins and cupcakes and tartlets: classics like blueberry and chocolate muffins, but also vanilla cupcakes with lime topping, and fruit tartlets which would be, as a small sign announced, served with freshly whipped cream. The third row was reserved for actual cakes: simpler ones like bee sting cake filled with vanilla pudding, fruit cakes or _Donauwelle_. But there were also fancy cakes: a cheese cake flavoured with elder tree flower syrup and lemon, decorated with the blossoms of cornflowers strewn over it, a multi-layered cake which combined several fruits with cream and chocolate syrup.

Yusuf looked back at the young woman, whose name-tag read _Nile_ , and she grinned. 

“I know. Impossible to choose, right? And everything’s really good. Nicky is such a genius.”

Yusuf gratefully latched onto anything that would give him an excuse to think a bit longer about which of these exquisite sweets he would try. 

“Nicky? The confectioner?”

Nile nodded, leaning against the counter. “And the owner of the place.” After another look at Yusuf’s helpless expression, she smiled again. “How about this: you tell me what you would like to drink, and I can recommend you a few things that go with the drink.”

Choosing a drink proved to be a challenge on its own, but eventually Yusuf picked a dark hot chocolate spiced with cardamom, and Nile recommended the coffee-cake with banana-flavoured whipped cream and the blackberry tartlet with rosemary-infused yogurt topping. Yusuf ended up ordering both of it, of course, and Nile added a single chocolate on the house, because it was her favourite and she wanted him to taste it, even if it absolutely did not go with his drink. 

Yusuf had planned on eating while writing, the taste of the pastries a welcome stimulant to revive the memory of the meal he’d had – because that’s what he was writing about. A restaurant review. Food was his main resort in the magazine. When he had applied, he had aimed for culture, but they had offered him food, and he had accepted. A steady employment that provided a stable income had become a rare thing in journalism, and Yusuf wasn’t too proud to compromise. 

So he spread his notes on the table and started typing away, sipping the hot chocolate which was much better than he had expected: bitter and strong, with a creamy texture that felt like actual molten chocolate on his tongue. But once he took the first bite of cake – the blackberry tartlet – his attention was disrupted and redirected to the many layers of taste: the tart sweetness of the blackberries, followed by and then mixed with the fresh, herbal flavour of the yogurt – and oh, sweet surprise, there was a small amount of honey; aromatic and dark, hidden in the centre of it. His laptop, his article were all but forgotten as he threw back his head and just _tasted_ everything. He stayed like this for several minutes, his professional attention tuned in to every little nuance of flavour, and in his head, the article about Nicky’s cake was writing itself: _If you think of yourself as someone who doesn’t like sweets, or who thinks all cake tastes the same, drop everything now and go to the –_ He realized he didn’t actually know the name of the café, but that did not matter. At all. What mattered was taking another bite out of the tartlet, and then another one until it was gone all too soon. But there was still the piece of coffee cake, and Yusuf gladly attended to it, accompanying every bite with a sip of the bitter, hot chocolate.

He spent almost an hour like this, tasting every bite, moving it around his mouth like he sometimes moved around heavy thoughts in his head, like his deepest regrets that sometimes kept him up at night. When the cake and the chocolate were finished, it felt like waking up from a dream. He checked his phone for the time and realized he had two missed calls from Andy. He called her back and was firmly pressed to finish his article by closing time today, which was now only three hours away. Yusuf assured her that he would be done in time, and the exquisite pastries seemed to have the same inspiring effects on him as some writers claimed coffee or alcohol had: in a mere ninety minutes, he finished the article, reread everything to make sure it was okay, and emailed it to Andy. He packed up, said goodbye to Nile – not without leaving a generous tip in the box on the counter – and headed back to the office. Andy was already reading his article, but as he walked past her room, she gave him a silent thumbs up, her eyes still trained on the monitor. Yusuf started to whistle.

His good mood lasted well into the evening, even if the conscious memory of the visit to the café faded a bit with everyday business that needed his attention. And yet as he once more stepped out into the summer day, what came to his mind was the taste of the single chocolate Nile had given him for free: sweet milk chocolate filled with a silky ganache that tasted like lemon and elder tree flower and sage. On a whim, he decided to make the little detour and step in the café again. He would buy something, whatever they had left, to take it home with him, and maybe share with his family or his neighbours. 

When he arrived at the café, someone was busy with cleaning the tables that stood on the sidewalk – someone that wasn’t Nile. It was a man, wearing a shabby t-shirt and cargo pants – goddamn _cargo pants_ – under a long apron. Yusuf stopped in front of the door and forced two students to make their way around him.

“Excuse me, do you happen to be – uh – to be the owner of this café?” Only in the last moment had he realized that it would have been quite inappropriate to address the man as “Nicky”, since they had never met before. 

The presumed Nicky straightened up, one hand on his hip, and eyed Yusuf. It took him a moment, but eventually he replied.

“I am. Niccòlo’s the name.” 

His hair was carelessly cut in a shapeless, practical crop. It was obvious that Niccòlo – Nicky – did not care much for his looks, and yet, and yet – his eyes, blue eyes under his prominent brow, his Roman nose and his full, curved lips enchanted Yusuf on the spot. He had always considered it a gift to be able to see beauty in everything, and now it punched him in the gut. The man before him was, despite his slight unkemptness, breathtakingly beautiful.

Yusuf cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Yusuf al-Kaysani. I came by earlier today, when Nile was on shift. Your cake and chocolates were so good that I came back for some more.”

Maybe it was just the heat, but he thought that Niccòlo’s cheeks were blushing the slightest bit. 

“I’m glad to hear that. If you have a minute, I’ll make a package with everything I would have to throw out otherwise. You can have it for free.” He stepped into the café, and Yusuf followed like being drawn on a string. 

“I can’t accept that”, he protested. He stopped for a moment, blinded by the relative darkness inside. “I’ll pay the full price. Your pastries are definitely worth it.” 

His eyes had adjusted just enough to see Niccòlo look back at him over his shoulder, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry, this is the first and last time you’ll get anything for free. I just want to get you hooked. If you want any more, you’ll have to pay for it.”

Yusuf grinned. “Save it. I’m already hooked.”

Niccòlo – _Nicky_ – laughed quietly, nothing more than a small tremble of his shoulders. “Well, then. Let’s make sure you’re going to come back every day. We need the business.” 

“I will”, Yusuf promised, his glance trained on Niccòlo’s broad shoulders. “Save a table for me.” He followed Nicky inside and watched him put some pieces of cake and other pastries on a cardboard plate and wrap them in paper. 

“These should be good for another one or two days”, Niccòlo said. “I just can’t sell them anymore. 

Yusuf couldn’t help but smile as he was handed the small package. “If you won’t let me pay you, how about this: I’ll bring this back to the place where I work and put it in a fridge so I can share it tomorrow, and then I’ll be back and help you close up. 30 minutes tops.”

Instead of answering, Nicky just looked at him for a moment. His smile had somehow changed, had become a little crooked, but with his eyes – which, as Yusuf did not fail to notice, looked much darker inside the café – fixed on Yusuf like that, his smile also felt more personal. It felt directed at him, as a person, and not like the honest and yet non-committal two strangers might share.

Before Niccòlo could agree – or disagree – Yusuf was at the door, one hand on the handle, looking back at Niccòlo over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in no time. By the way, I’m Yusuf.”

After that first meeting, Yusuf stopped by almost every day. Sometimes he sat in the café for hours to write his articles, sometimes he just popped in to buy a coffee or some cake to eat later at work. Two or three times he brought co-workers, Andy and Quynh and whoever else had time to join them, because he knew that Nicky was grateful for every new customer. But, as he realized with a little sting of embarrassment, he tended to go in later and later, when Nile’s or Booker’s shift ended and Niccòlo took over. Yusuf tried not to go then too often, he didn’t want to make it weird, but he found that he enjoyed Niccòlo’s company more and more. 

Sometimes, when it was quiet, Niccòlo made himself a cup of tea or coffee, and sat down at Yusuf’s table. Yusuf, grateful for the distraction, closed his laptop and chatted with him, about some aspect of their work – more often than you’d expect they end up exchanging recipes or talking about how they prepare food, since it’s a part of both their jobs. 

Other times, they talked about art – a subject Yusuf could hold lectures on, analysing an artist’s work no matter if they’re contemporary or if they lived centuries ago, trying to express what he finds so fascinating about their work, and somehow he always found the right word when he looked into Nicky’s eyes. Nicky usually listened to these rants quietly, but with attention: His head propped up on one hand, the other hand loosely wrapped around his cup, slightly bent forward and his gaze fixed on Yusuf, except when he looks at the picture of a sculpture or painting that Yusuf had pulled up on his phone as an example. Often, Yusuf found him smiling this little smile that only touched the corners of his mouth, but whether he was amused by the subject or by Yusuf himself, he did not dare to ask. He knew that he couldn’t ask for more than Nicky not being bored.

Nicky himself did seem comfortable in the role of his audience. He wasn’t taciturn, but he didn’t talk unprompted, and rarely gave away any personal information unless asked. Most of the times, Yusuf didn’t ask, and so it takes week until he learns that Niccòlo had been born in Genova, but has family in Germany and came here to study – Study what? Yusuf decided to ask later. He didn’t know about the time between Niccòlo’s studies and the café in the railway arches. He didn’t ask, either, and so their conversation turned towards books they have read and movies they have seen, places they have been to – or they are planning to go to in the future –, things they have done and experiences made.

Yusuf still learned something about Niccòlo: that he did not like things that are popular but that he preferred to find himself small, unknown, niche content; not to appear artsy or special but simply to call it his own, to feel like the first person to read this book or to watch that show. Yusuf found that endearing, and asked Nicky to recommend some of his finds. He learned that Nicky felt more comfortable alone than in the company of the wrong people, and that cooking and baking were his preferred way to destress. He also learned, although that was something never said out aloud, that Nicky hated to see him go: Whenever Yusuf had to return to his office or his home, Nicky’s eyes became a shade darker because he knitted his eyebrows together – just for a moment, though. Yusuf treasured that information, even if he doesn’t know what to do with it.

It took Yusuf about ten days to realize that he is falling for Nicky, and he could pinpoint the exact moment. It was around dusk, 10 pm maybe, and the sky was still bright while the river flowed dark like the impending night. They had walked from Friedrichstraße to the German Cathedral and were now sitting on a bench on the edge of the river, the Old Museum and the open space of the Lustgarten that, despite its baroque name, is nothing more than a lawn crossed by a few cement paths. People are sitting on the grass and on the steps of the Cathedral and the museum, and the traffic on the boulevard Unter den Linden rolls by with a low swoosh.

Their bench stood behind the Cathedral, at the pier where the tourist ships take in their passengers. They had bought dinner before they came here, Kebab – which isn’t a food only for drunk people in Germany, everyone eats kebab all the time – and two cans of beer, and in the very moment Nicky unwrapped his food and bit into the crunchy bread, letting out a small sound of satisfaction, Joe just stopped. He held his own kebab, wrapped in tin foil, and just looked at the man beside him. The light summer breeze moved his hair that has grown a little too long to be fashionable, and the street lights reflect in his eyes. Yusuf feels something tight in his chest, and at the same time he wants to laugh out freely, for the pure joy of being here, being with Nicky, and experiencing this summer night.

„It’s been … I don’t know, years, I think, since I’ve done this last.” Niccòlo’s voice broke through Yusuf’s thoughts. He focused on Nicky, the actual Nicky right here beside him on the park bench, and that little half smile that made him look cocky and self-conscious at the same time tore at Yusuf’s heart.

“Done what?” His voice was hoarse, and he coughed a little, as if a piece of food in the wrong pipe was the reason for that.

Niccòlo shrugged. “Just … something that’s got nothing to do with work. Spent time with a friend. Genuinely enjoyed myself.” 

Yusuf returned the smile and took a bite from his kebab to hide the fact that he was too flustered to speak. Nicky finished his food, crumpled the tin foil into a ball in his hand and picked up the wrapping of Yusuf’s kebab as well. When he walked a few steps away to throw them into the bin, Yusuf closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. _It’s nothing. He’s just your first real social contact outside your family and your workplace, it’s nothing, you just enjoy spending your time with another person for a change –_

And then Niccòlo turned around and walked back to him. The light of the street lamps moved over his face, accented the arch of his nose and the curvature of his lips, and Yusuf’s barely existing self-control crumbled. 

_Oh shit_ was all he could think, his mind rotating around the one thought like a broken record. Niccòlo sat down beside him, so close that Yusuf almost started to panic. It took him a few seconds to realize that Nicky was looking at him expectantly – had he said something? Was Yusuf supposed to _answer_?

“I-I’m sorry, did you say something? I was … thinking.”

Again, that little smile, this time with more than a trace of mockery in it. Niccòlo just looked at him for a moment, his glance flitting over Yusuf’s face before returning to his eyes – and remaining there. 

“I asked if you’d like to find a place where we can get a drink. The kebab made me thirsty.” His voice was low and – promising?

Yusuf swallowed and smiled. “Sure. I could go for another beer.”

His heart still fluttered when Nicky looked away and got up, and as they walked down the street beside each other, his hand brushed against Niccòlo’s almost by accident. Nicky did not pull away.

It was still dark when Yusuf got home that night, but as he crawled between the sheets, the first pale glimmer of light came in through the gaps of his curtains. He was tired, had almost fallen asleep in the subway train two or three times, but now that he actually had made it to his bed, his body had decided to stay awake a little longer – or was it his mind that wouldn’t stop playing a best of Nicky’s smile? 

Yusuf rolled on his back and folded his arms under his head. He was aware that he was standing, metaphorically speaking, on the top of a very slippery slope – standing so close to the edge that his toes already lost touch with the ground. He was falling for Nicky, was falling for him hard and fast, and obviously his subconscious had decided that 4 am in the morning was the right moment to decide whether he should pursue it or not. 

True, the man was handsome, and kind, and possessed that quiet, thoughtful way that Yusuf found so attractive. But they barely knew each other, and every time Yusuf had fallen in love, he had been the one to end up with a broken heart. Oh, he wanted Nicky, and he didn’t really doubt that Nicky wanted him, too – but he was afraid of what would happen if that changed. 

In the end, sleep caught up with him before he had made a final decision. The last memory was that of texting Andy that he had woken up and been sick, so he wouldn’t made it to work today. He felt a little bad for the lie, but not too much. The building wouldn’t burn down when he missed one day of work. 

A week later Yusuf still hadn’t made a decision. Every time he had thought of seeing Nicky less, his chest had ached in that specific way that told him he was absolutely fucked, and every time he had thought of making a move, he had panicked. 

_Time will tell_ , he told himself, while he knowingly set himself up to fall for Nicky until a relationship or heartbreak or first the one and then the other was unavoidable. But after all, no decision was a decision, too. He would be able to tell himself that he couldn’t have done anything different, that he had just been unable to withstand the man when everything would eventually shatter and fall to pieces – _if_ everything would shatter. 

“Yusuf!” 

He startled. His chin slipped out of his hand and he almost smashed his face into the desk. 

“I’m – Andy, I’m sorry, I was thinking.” 

“I don’t pay you to think, I pay you to write your articles.”

Yusuf looked up to her. She stood on the other side of his desk, her hands on her hips, and looked at him as if she was thinking about whether to kick him or not. 

“You don’t even pay me”, he replied. “ _News & Magazines_ does.” 

Her face told him that she had settled on kicking him, so he didn’t add that he couldn’t possibly write articles without thinking.

“Good for you”, she replied. “Did you hear what I said? They”, she pointed upwards with her index finger to indicate levels of management above her own, “want you to check out that fancy place that opened in Potsdam.”

Joe’s thoughts finally returned to his job. “The Somalian one? ‘Jikada’?”

“The very one. Quynh says some big guy from the fashion industry went there last week and posted a picture on their Instagram.” 

_I could take Nicky_. The thought was there before anything else, before all the planning that usually went into a visit at a restaurant, before his notes on researching the respective cuisine, before even thinking about how and when to get there. 

_I could take Nicky._

That would be as close to an actual date as they had ever gotten. It wouldn’t mean stepping down on the slope and sliding down on his two feet, it would mean taking a run-up and crash at the bottom. Because of course Nicky would, at some point of time, realize what was going on. Nicky was anything but stupid.

And yet. The idea of spending an evening like that with Nicky – maybe even spending the entire day with Nicky, why not – definitely had its appeal. They could have lunch together, go to the museum or just take a walk through Potsdam, have dinner at the _Jikada_ , and then go to the theatre or the opera, and maybe, just maybe, he was day-dreaming about holding Nicky’s hand in the dark while listening to the Duke of Mantua’s heart wrenching love songs.

He realized Andy was still standing at his desk.

“Is there something else you need?”

She looked at him for a moment. “Are you okay, Yusuf? You’ve seemed kind of … distracted, lately.”

Yusuf cleared his throat. He liked Andy, he really did. He trusted her, too – as his boss. She always stood up for him or Quynh or any of their other co-workers, and when someone made a mistake, she was fair enough to give them another chance, but not stupid enough to give them more chances than they deserved.

But still, she was his boss; edging on being a friend, and yet they had never really crossed that line. She deserved some version of the truth, though, because she was right – whatever Yusuf had going on with Niccolò was affecting his work.

“I … might have met someone. I’m sorry, boss, I’ll do better.”

Andy nodded. “Good.” She took a deep breath and Yusuf knew that she was thinking about all the Christmas parties and work outings he had always brought a sibling or another member of his family to.

“Good for you”, she added. “Bring them along to our summer festival in July.”

She left and went into her own office, leaving Yusuf to his thoughts. He tried to make a list of pros and cons about asking Nicky out, but got tangled up in his thoughts and decided to postpone the decision. Instead, he called the restaurant to make a reservation. Even though Potsdam was quite a fancy, expensive and would-be trendy town, the _Jikada_ wasn’t famous enough yet to be booked out more than two or three days in advance. He asked for a table on Saturday, June 16th – for two people. The decision wasn’t made yet, he told himself, even though he started to suspect that it very much was. He did not allow himself to look up what expositions the museums in Potsdam were showing, or what would be on the programmes of the theatres that day. Instead, he resolved to actually get some work done. As he started typing, he whistled the melody of _‘bella figlia dell’ amore’_.

After a day that had actually been quite productive – surprisingly productive, considering how it had started – Yusuf decided to treat himself, and have a coffee and a chat with Nicky. His heart did that funny little thing that felt like falling, or like flying.

He packed his things, said goodbye to his co-workers and stepped out into the summer evening. There were clouds on the horizon, grey and still far away, but the wind that drove empty paper cups and a plastic bag down the street told Yusuf that the clouds would bring rain tonight. Maybe there would even be a thunderstorm. He smiled, enjoying the prospect of sitting on his armchair beside the window, reading, drinking some Çay – he could not bring himself to think of it as tea, because it was such a specific drink both in ways of preparation and of cultural meaning. He might read that book that Nicky lent him, or he might just sit there and listen to the rain and the thunder until it was time to go to sleep.

As he arrived at what had become _Nicky’s Café_ to him during the last few weeks, he heard angry shouts from inside. Was that really Nicky’s voice? Nicky, who was always so quiet, so patient? He opened the door to see what was going on, if he could help with something, and found Nicky behind the counter, bent over a magazine. Nile’s voice was coming from the small room behind the counter that doubled as a storage unit and office.

“Nicky, calm _down_! You’ll scare away our customers.”

Now Nicky looked up, apparently only now noticing that someone had entered. His face lit up as he realized it was Yusuf.

“Yusuf, _amico_! You will tell Nile that I’m right, won’t you?”

“Of course you are, Niccolò”, Yusuf replied. “About what?”

“Did you hear that?” Nicky yelled in Nile’s direction. “Yusuf says I’m right!”

“He doesn’t even know what we’re arguing about”, Nile answered in a normal tone of voice as she came back front with two 5-liter-containers of milk. “Hey, Yusuf. You look hot. Can I get you a drink?”

Before Yusuf could even think about whether he wanted a drink, Nicky’s face became a mask of horror.

“Yusuf, I’m sorry! I should have offered you something instead of pulling you into our argument, forgive me –“ He hurried around the counter, and, faster than Yusuf could react, had taken his bag and his light summer jacket off him.

“It’s fine”, Yusuf said. He couldn’t help but smile; it was the only thing he could do instead of just kissing Nicky here and now. “I’m not that hot, the office has AC.” He still sat down at the table on which Nicky had discarded his things, and watched Nicky as he prepared an iced coffee for Yusuf.

“So, what were the two of you arguing about?”

Nile rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Nicky read the newest restaurant review in _Living_.” She leant against the counter, scoffing. “Let’s just say that he doesn’t agree with the author.”

Yusuf tried to keep his smile plastered in place. He had never been more grateful that _Living_ didn’t publish the name of its journalists. He took a sip of his iced coffee and promptly choked on a chip of ice.

“I, um … I’m not familiar with that magazine”, he lied after he had regained his breath. “What’s the article about?”

Nicky sighed and pushed the magazine off the counter like a bored cat. It fell to the ground and stayed there, upside-down, and Yusuf felt that it deserved that for upsetting Nicky.

“The author is talking about his visit to that Thai restaurant close to here – I took Nile and Booker there once, that’s the only reason I even bought the magazine. Because I actually knew the place.”

“Don’t listen to him, he reads the restaurant reviews every month, and he always hates them”, Nile muttered into Yusuf’s ear. He had to consciously focus on Nicky to keep his face straight.

“And this – this person – just criticizes so many little, meaningless things about it. Does he know how much trouble it is to run a restaurant? Does he know that a recipe never comes out as you intend it to, or as it has come out the last time? Does he know how much trouble the customers can be?”

Yusuf found himself staring at Niccolò. He had never heard him speak so passionately before. There were little drops of sweat on his forehead, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were shining. His mind was empty with this sight, and he couldn’t figure out if Nicky actually expected him to answer. All he could think of was the flush on his damp skin.

“Uh, I, uh … you look a little hot, Nicky. Maybe you should fix yourself one of these iced coffees.” He couldn’t think of anything else, even though he was aware it wasn’t the cleverest thing to say. Nile beside him snorted, and Yusuf was sure she was fighting a smile.

Nicky groaned. “You know I hate iced coffee.”

Yusuf stared at him for a moment, and then Nile lost her fight. She burst out laughing, repeating “You _know_ I _hate_ iced coffees”, interrupted by fits of laughter. Yusuf and Niccolò stared at each other for a moment until Nicky’s mouth started to twitch. Against his will he put on a smile, and in an instant they had joined Nile’s laughter about the absurdity of it all. It was such a perfect moment.

It took them a while to calm down. Some customers came in, and Nicky served them, still giggling, and pointedly not looking at Yusuf so they wouldn’t start laughing again. After the customers were gone and Nile was busy checking the toilets, Yusuf put his empty coffee glass at the counter and leant a little closer to Nicky.

“Actually, I meant to ask you something. There’s this Somalian restaurant …”

Later that night Yusuf was in his bed, his skin still damp from the shower and the lightest breeze ghosting over his naked skin. The clouds had darkened the sky prematurely, and he had seen sheet lightning two or three times, but there had been no real flashes or thunder, and no rain, either. The air was so humid and heavy that even just lying there made Yusuf break out in sweat, and for a brief moment, he wondered what it would feel like to have Nicky lick it off, _hot tongue against his chest, his abs, his hands buried in soft, tousled hair_ , but he pushed the thought aside. If chance was against him, and it looked very much like it was, this would never happen.

Because chance had led him to the most beautiful, thoughtful, optimistic man in the world, who hated Yusuf because of the work he did. Of course he didn’t hate Yusuf, personally, because he didn’t know it was him who wrote the restaurant reviews.

But that was the crucial point, wasn’t it? Yusuf knew now that Nicky hated the author of the restaurant reviews in _Living_. It would only be fair to tell Nicky, to let him know that it was his new friend and possible love interest, Yusuf, who wrote those despicable pieces of hack writing that defiled everything Nicky held dear. Every time they met and Yusuf wouldn’t say it, it would just become weirder and weirder, until Nicky basically had to think Yusuf had ulterior motives.

But how could he say it? How could he just stroll in there, nonchalantly sit down and say, as if he was left completely unfazed by it: “By the way, I wrote these articles that bring you a little closer to a heart attack every month”? How could he risk Nicky scowling at him, disposing of him as if he was that magazine that he had thrown to the floor?

Yusuf groaned, unable to sleep due to both the sweat and the worry. In the dark, he groped for the bed sheet he used as a blanket and pulled it over his body. Had it gotten any cooler? The curtains were moving in the wind the breeze had turned into. While Yusuf still contemplated getting up and closing the windows, lightning bathed his bedroom in white and blinded him temporarily. Thunder followed just a few seconds afterwards, roaring and rolling like a timbal. Rain came down like a sheet of water, sudden and torrential, and he hurried to shut his windows. With at least one of the reasons for his sleeplessness gone, he returned to bed and finally fell asleep.

His date with Nicky – _It’s not a date, don’t make him feel uncomfortable_ – came around much faster than Yusuf had anticipated, and he watched the days roll past with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. He was looking forward to it, he _was_ – but what if Nicky found out? Yusuf didn’t even know if he was more nervous about Nicky finding out that he was the author of the restaurant reviews or that he was in love with Nicky. Both was equally terrifying for entirely different reasons. 

The day started out perfect. It was sunny, as it had been all summer, but not too hot. Yusuf had spent an unreasonable amount of time with choosing his outfit, something he hadn’t done in ages. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care for his looks, though. For his everyday life, he had some carefully picked pieces, mostly basics, he could throw together in alternating combinations and create decent-looking, maybe even fashionable outfits he wore to work. He had some more colourful, ethnic-looking – and more comfortable – clothes he wore when he spent time with his family, which he did frequently. 

There was nothing, however, he immediately wanted to wear for such an occasion. His work clothes were mostly black or white or dark blue, so in the best case they would be too formal for a day like this. In the worst case, Nicky would think he was drab and didn’t have a life outside work. True, Nicky had never seen him in any other clothes. They had always met before Yusuf started working, or after he’d finished. But today was different. Today they would see each other because he, Yusuf, had asked Nicky out, and Nicky had accepted his invitation. 

In the end, Yusuf called his sister who lived just a few streets away. She abandoned home, hearth and husband and rushed to his aid, and of course she looked flawlessly beautiful and fashionable, her hijab, tunic and white linen pants presenting a gradient from a dark green to a whitish spring-like colour that made her green eyes shine like two stars. 

She had greeted him with a kiss and immediately set to her task. “It’s summer, and you’re not going to work, so you have to wear something colourful”, she decided, returning some of his confidence by repeating his earlier thoughts. In the end she picked something that looked fantastic, even though he probably wouldn’t have had the courage to choose the outfit on his own. So he arrived at the train station feeling very chic and confident in his white linen pants, a salmon-pink dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows and a silk scarf of the same colour, just a few shades darker, loosely thrown over one shoulder. 

Nicky, as he realized with a wave of relief, wore the same things he always wore when he was standing behind the counter of his café, complemented by a wide-brimmed straw hat that was so ugly and out of fashion that Yusuf loved it immediately. They greeted each other a little awkwardly before Yusuf gathered what was left of his courage and pulled Nicky into a hug. Nicky’s cheek on his was warm, a little sweaty, and soft – probably freshly shaven. He smelled very fresh, like clothes dried outside, with a hint of something sweet, earthy – honey-soap, maybe?

To Yusuf’s surprise, the day that had already started perfectly became better and better. When they arrived in Potsdam, they decided to walk from the station to the inner part of the town. It was almost noon, and Yusuf suggested that they look for a place where they could have dinner, but Nicky said he had already taken care of that. 

“You have done so much already”, he said. “You’re going to pay for the dinner, so I thought I might take care of lunch.” He popped into an Italian restaurant and immediately emerged again, carrying a huge picnic basket. 

“I wanted to bring something along, but I just didn’t have the time to make anything”, he said apologetically. “I told my brother about it and he said not to worry, he would take care of it.” 

Was it the heat, or was Niccolò blushing? “He seemed under the impression that I was, uh, going on a date.”

Yusuf froze. _Say something, say something._ But what? It was a kind of date, after all, at least to him. Was that Nicky’s way to fish for information? Did he want to hear that this was a date, or that it wasn’t? Was that the reason why Nicky had been so quick about picking up the basket without introducing Yusuf to his brother?

Yusuf smiled and winked at Nicky, and yes, he was definitely blushing. 

“Maybe I should have come in with you after all.”

Nicky became even redder, and he pulled down the brim of his hat. “My brother is a very open-minded man, at least when he’s looking for occasions to tease me. You coming in with me would not have stopped him from thinking I was on a date.” That, Yusuf decided, was interesting on more than one level. Nicky’s family, or at least a part of it, wouldn’t mind him dating a man. It might also mean that Niccolò was trying to tell him indirectly that he himself wouldn’t mind dating Yusuf. He wouldn’t have brought it up if that was completely off the table, right?

Intrigued, Yusuf raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Nicky continued fiddling with his head until he pulled out a straw. “I, uhm, I mean you are a very attractive man, as my brother already pointed out when I showed him the photo Nile took of us, but I only did so because he kept pestering me about it, and he has been bugging me about you ever since …” 

Yusuf stopped in the middle of the way. “Nicky”, he said in his softest voice, “are you trying to flirt with me?”

Nicky closed his eyes in what was unmistakably relief. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad at it. I didn’t know … how to tell you.” 

Yusuf laughed, and thanked his Maghreb heritage that gave him the courage to bend forward and kiss Nicky’s cheek. 

“I got it eventually, didn’t I?”

From that moment on, their date was flavoured by a tension so light that it almost wasn’t there, and yet they were both aware of it. They carried their lunch into the Neuer Garten, the Park that surrounded the Castle Cecilienhof, and sat down with their feet in the water of the Heiliger See. Every now and then, their naked feet would bump into each other, and while Nicky had avoided Yusuf’s gaze before, he now seemed to bask in it. And Yusuf loved looking at him, the pattern of light and shade the hat immersed his face in, the way his eyes shone even in the shade – and his smile, that tiny smile that only played around the edges of his mouth and yet always made Yusuf’s heart flutter. 

They sat there for more than an hour, eating antipasti and bread with olive oil and salad, and drinking a delicious mixture of white wine and sparkling water. They talked about everything and nothing, and every so often their feet would touch in the water. When they had finally finished their meal, they retreated to a cooler place in the shade and rested for a while, emptying the second bottle of white wine spritzer. Both of them dozed in the heat, but the blanket wasn’t really that big, and of course their arms would brush against each other when they moved. Maybe they moved just a little bit more often than they had to. 

They left the park in the heat of the afternoon, and the way back to the restaurant of Nicky’s brother was slow and toilsome. Nicky brought two bottles of cool water with him when he left the restaurant this time, and while they drank, he suggested going to the museum. 

“There’s still about five hours left before we have to be at the restaurant”, he said. “And they’re exhibiting van Gogh still lives.” He bent his head just a little nearer, and his voice so close to Yusuf’s ear made him shiver despite the heat. “I know you like van Gogh, I thought you might enjoy that.”

If Nicky’s kind-of confession had come just a few days earlier, Yusuf would have kissed him now. Of course he had been aware of the exhibition, burning to see it, but he hadn’t suggested it because the day was supposed to be about Nicky and him. He didn’t really need poor Vincent third-wheeling.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be bored.”

Nicky smiled. “I won’t. And at least, it’s going to be cooler there.”

And it was. The halls and rooms of the museum were climate controlled, and the light was dimmed to conserve the paintings, and Nicky quietly sat beside Yusuf on the benches and let him watch the masterworks without talking to him. It just felt naturally for Yusuf to take his hand as a sign of appreciation for all of it, and they ignored the occasional curious glance of another visitor. 

They spent another ninety minutes in the exhibition, and Yusuf emerged with a blissful smile. He longed to paint, to dig out his water colours and his sketch block and paint like he had used to before work and family had consumed most of his time. 

“Thank you”, he said as they sat in the museum’s café, the bulging bag from the gift shop beside Yusuf’s chair. “That was a great idea.” Nicky smiled behind his coffee cup, his face alight with such fondness that something ached in Yusuf’s chest. 

“Do you still paint?” he asked rather abruptly. Yusuf had shown him photos of some of his paintings and drawings on his phone, but hadn’t commented on when he had done them.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

Nicky’s smile became just a bit wider. “When would you? You spend most of your free time with your family – or with me, at the café.” He took a sip of coffee, then put his cup down. Under the table, he stretched his leg just enough to let his calf brush against Yusuf’s. “I think you should, though. You are a great artist.” 

His gaze was very direct now, open and inquiring, and there was something arousing about it. Yusuf shifted in his chair, but made sure to press his leg against Nicky’s. He could have explained why he didn’t have the time to paint, find excuses or reasons to cover up the truth – that, at some point of his everyday grind, he had lost the inspiration. 

But he didn’t say any of it. What came out instead was this: “I would like to paint you some time, Niccoló.” It was quiet for a moment before he realized that his words could be understood in a lot of different ways, depending on what kind of picture one was thinking of. “A portrait”, he added. “I would like to paint your portrait.”

Nicky’s glance became hooded, his smile lazy – a reflection of Yusuf’s own arousal. “I would like that”, he agreed, his tone suggesting that he was thinking of something a little less innocent than a simple portrait. 

The worst heat was over when they left the museum, and they decided to go on a little shopping tour on their way to the restaurant. They found a small second hand bookshop, where Nicky bought a recipe book from the 50s and Yusuf found a pictorial book with woodcuts from the 17th century. They were so engrossed in grubbing about the shop that they were almost late for their dinner reservation, but they still made it in time. 

The food was good – no, it was great, the service attentive and friendly, the location an experience on its own; and yet, everything Yusuf remembered when they left, was Niccolò. He would have problems writing his review later, he thought, but immediately pushed the idea aside. This was not the time to think of it; not while he was walking beside Nicky in the moonlight, Nicky, who was carrying Yusuf’s bag for him, who now turned to him and said: “If you want to, you can come to my place. I have prepared some dessert.”

Of course he had. Yusuf swallowed. „I would like that very much.”

Nicky had prepared crème brulée, having remembered that it was Yusuf’s favourite. He poured him a perfectly tempered Muscatel wine to go with it, and they had dessert on Nicky’s balcony, tasting the crème first on their spoons, and then on each other’s lips. The flavour of caramel and vanilla and nutmeg mingled with what Yusuf learned was Nicky’s very own taste – something bitter, and yet mouth-watering, like coffee or vermouth.

He also learned what Niccolò tasted like on his arms, his chest, and his belly. Yusuf couldn’t get enough of it, and he got his share when they were laying on Niccolò’s bed. Nicky’s hands on his skin spurred him on, but he was primarily driven by the search for that perfect flavour. He found it, in the end, and judging by the sounds Nicky made, he, too, enjoyed the experience.

Nicky made him breakfast in the morning, and repaid him for last night, and if Yusuf’s sister hadn’t called him because he was late for family lunch, he would have stayed there all day. Nicky shooed him out of his condo with a smile and the promise of more kisses on Monday – “Not tonight, you know both of us would be late for work tomorrow if we’d see each other.” Yusuf called his sister and told her in the backseat of the taxi, told her all about it because there was no one else and he had to share it with her. He told her about the date, and Nicky’s attempt at flirting, and everything that had happened afterwards, all the while carefully avoiding pronouns to not betray himself. When he had finally stopped gushing about his newly found love, his sister answered with an audible smile in her voice: “So? When do I get to meet him?”

So Yusuf didn’t only get himself a boyfriend but also learned that his sister had known about him loving men, which, in retrospective, should not have surprised him. She had always seen through him as through a glass door. They ended the call about five minutes before Yusuf arrived at his parents’ apartment, and when he entered, he went through the usual flurry of hugs and kisses from his mother, father, brothers, sister, his brother and sisters in law, his nieces and nephews and some neighbours who just happened to be there but hugged and kissed him anyway. He vaguely thought how happy he was he had remembered to brush his teeth this morning.

“You look happy, _‘iibni_ , my son”, his mother said in a quiet moment, and he smiled at her. “I am”, he said. “I am happy to see my family.” It was the truth. Being happy because Nicky liked him – because Nicky was his _boyfriend_ now – was like a drop of ink in a glass of water. It tinted everything in the hues of his joy. “I am very happy.”

_This must be the unhappiest day of my life_ , Yusuf thought, watching the fizz of the Aspirin dissolving in the glass of water. The changing weather made his head hurt, and while he welcomed the pain as a just dessert to his idiocy, he had to get some work done.

How could he have been such a fool? Such an utter idiot? Whatever was happening to him, he did deserve it, no doubt. Not only had he earned every ounce of grief, he had invited it, asked for it, and it had been granted aplenty.

His phone rang, and he looked carefully for the caller’s name. Nicky. Yusuf sighed, crushed the last remnants of the Aspirin with his spoon and put the phone down on its display, waiting for it to stop ringing. It’s been like that for two days now, after only two weeks of purest bliss.

He sighed again, ignored the look Andy cast him from the door of her office where she was talking to Quynh, the editor responsible for the fashion articles and photo spreads. Yusuf downed his Aspirin water, rinsed out the glass and returned to his desk. He had articles waiting to be written, and research about the cuisine of the Levant – another trend that would yield hip restaurants charging double or triple for the same food that the kebab shops had been offering for years. He woke his computer from the energy saving slumber it had fallen in while he had drugged himself. He wished it had been something stronger than Aspirin, though. Morphine, maybe. For maybe half an hour, he forced himself to type out sentences about a Berlin classic, _Currywurst_ – Was there a subject less meaningful, less interesting than goddamned _Currywurst?_ – Before someone opened the door to his office without knocking.

Yusuf pretended to be busy reading something on his screen, even though he’d rather gouge his eyes out instead of rereading the nonsense he had just written. So he was caught by surprise by the pall of crumpled paper that hit his forehead.

“Yusuf”, Andy said in that voice that would have made stronger men than Yusuf cower in fright. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He still didn’t dare to look at her, but ignoring her was out of the question. “Nothing, it’s just the weather. It always gives me headaches.” It had been raining for three or four days now, but it was still warm and unbearably humid.

“Bullshit. First you’re on cloud nine and write like you’re aiming for the Journalist’s Award, and now you look like a dead man. What’s going on?”

Yusuf still pretended to read, but he could feel Andy’s gaze on his forehead like a fishing hook, reeling him in slowly but inevitably. As his resolve finally crumbled and he looked at her, she bent down until their eyes were at the same height. She spoke slowly, accenting every word. “What is going on?”

Yusuf rubbed his eyes. “Just … some private trouble. Relationship trouble.“

„What, with that guy from the café?” Andy asked. “What happened? He seemed to be really into you.”

“What? When did you … Oh, I forgot I took you.” He had brought some co-workers a few days after getting together with Nicky, just to show him off a bit. He hadn’t explicitly told them that they were a couple, but apparently it had been quite obvious.

“Well? What happened?” Andy didn’t seem ready to settle for anything less than the whole story.

Yusuf shrugged, suddenly feeling tired. “He hates me. Well – not me, but the articles I write, the restaurant reviews. He thinks I can’t appreciate all the work that goes into running a restaurant, and that I judge too harshly.”

Andy looked at him, calm now. “So? He broke up with you because of the work you do? Seems a little extreme to me.”

Yusuf winced. “He … he didn’t break up with me. It’s more like … I didn’t talk to him since the latest issue came out. Because … he must have realized I’ve written the review of the _Jikada_. Nile, the barista, she called me and asked what was going on. She said Nicky didn’t get angry as usual when he read _Living_ , but went out on her and a line of six people, muttering something about calling me.”

Nicky had called him. Yusuf had missed the call due to the weekly editor’s conference, and after talking to Nile, hadn’t found the courage to take Nicky’s calls.

“And so you decided to ghost him before he could confront you about it? After you lied to him about your work?” Andy looked at him with a furrowed brow.

Yusuf shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “It does sound like it’s my fault when you put it like that. I just …” There was no way to express what it would do to him to hear once more that he hadn’t been enough to keep someone he liked. Nicky must hate him now, rightfully so after Yusuf had ignored his calls for two days, and it would kill Yusuf to see that hatred on Niccolò’s face. He had barely recovered from how his last relationship ended, and he wouldn’t make it through another break-up.

But even though he had no words for it, Andy seemed to understand at least what it was about. She sighed, her expression soft now.

“Go home, Yusuf. Get yourself a doctor’s certificate for the week, and get some rest.” She smiled at him. “Trust me. He likes you enough to forgive you for being so stupid.”

As he had expected, Amina had been without any mercy for him. His sister had listened to his incoherent story, patiently nodding along and asking a question now and then, pretending she didn’t see the tears he was fighting. When he was done, she had quietly handed him a packet of tissues, and the silent acceptance of his feelings was too much for him to handle. He ignored the tissues and hugged her close, feeling warm and protected in her arms even though he was almost twice as big as her. How strong she must be, he wondered. She had given birth to three children and raised them with unending love and patience. When she wanted to go back to work, she had had a couple of bad fights with her husband over his part in raising them, and had yet had the strength to not give up on him. How much love, how much trust must live in that small body he held in his arms?

He pulled away from her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. Look at this, I’ve ruined your new headscarf.” 

Amina had laughed and stroked his cheek. “You will buy me a new one, right? Maybe Nicky will pitch in after I’ve saved his relationship with you.”

Yusuf cleared his throat and looked out of the window, new tears building up in his throat. Amina showed no regard for his discomfort.

“So, from Nicky’s point of view, what happens is this: He meets you, the two of you fall in love, you learn that he hates restaurant reviews in general and the restaurant reviews in Living in particular. You take him on a date and ten days later he has to realize that it must have been you who wrote all that reviews he hated, because he recognizes enough details from his visit at the very same restaurant with you.” She looked at him, her carefully plucked eyebrows arched in a combination of disbelief and disapproval. “And as he tries to talk to you about it, you ignore his calls and his text messages and completely go off the grid.” 

Yusuf groaned and buried his face in his hands. “It sounds really bad when you put it like this.”

With a smile, she had put his hand on her cheek. “It must be, for him. But it seems like he really likes you. If you tell him everything you just told me, I’m sure he will forgive you.”

Her encouragement made it hard for Yusuf not to feel sorry for himself even more. She had so much more on her plate, and had yet been sitting here with him for over an hour already. 

“Andy – my boss – she said something like that, too. And she even met him once.”

“And she’s a lesbian, right?” Amira asked. “All the lesbians I know have the best insight into human nature, so she’s probably right.”

“Excuse me, how many lesbians do you actually know?” Yusuf asked, feeling a bit shaken. When had his sister had the occasion to meet several lesbians?

But Amira just winked. “That’s a conversation for another time. Now, I think you have something to deal with.”

“I – now? Do I have to?” She opened her mouth, and he raised his hand as a sign that he had more to say. “I’m tired and I feel – emotionally sore. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow, I promise, but right now I’m not in the place for it.” 

Amira stared at him for a second, then released him with a sigh. “Fine. I can see you really aren’t. Get some rest, eat something, and call him tomorrow. Do call him tomorrow.”

Yusuf held up a hand beside his head. “I solemnly swear”, he quoted one of their favourite plays as children, and she laughed. Amina was almost out of the door when she looked at him with a smile so loving that his throat tightened again. 

“Fix this, Yusuf. I’ve seen how happy he made you, and you deserve to be happy.” 

He had only been able to nod and had kissed her again, and then she was out of the door. Yusuf was tired, but the pain, the worry and the bad consciousness that had plagued him during the last week had subsided. He felt at peace, and he knew what to do. He decided to make himself something to eat – the first proper meal he would have since he stopped talking to Nicky – and then spend some time in the bath tub, going through his emotional support care programme. It included a head to toe body scrub, washing his hair and beard with a special shampoo, a cleansing face mask and of course his favourite bath salts. 

As usual, though, life decided not to take his plans into consideration. He had finished his meal – an omelette with spinach and feta cheese, and he had eaten every last scrap of it – and was running the bathing water, contemplating what he would read while soaking in the tub, as the doorbell rang. Maybe his sister again, or a delivery for a neighbour. He pressed the button on the intercom that opened the door to the house and carried a stack of magazines into the bathroom as someone pounded on the door to his apartment. 

That postman must be in a bad mood, Yusuf thought, but he felt so relieved that he himself was doing better that he didn’t really think about it until he opened the door.

In front of it was Nicky, looking hot and dishevelled. His hair, wet with sweat, stood in all directions, and his shirt was soaked. The shadows under his eyes were bigger than ever, and Yusuf truly realized only now that the last days must have been as bad for Nicky as they had been for him. 

“Niccolò”, he said, his voice soft and helpless. But that was just the surprise, he didn’t feel helpless, not anymore. He knew what he had to do. “Come in. I just need to turn off the water. Do you want a drink?” 

“No. I want to talk to you.” Nicky was calm, but it cost him. His hands were curled into fists, and his back was rigid. 

“I know. I would have called you tomorrow, but thank you for coming.” He walked ahead into the living room. The curtains were drawn to keep out the sunlight, and somehow that didn’t feel right. There shouldn’t be any secrets left between them, nothing left in the dark. So he let the light in, and as he turned back to Niccolò, he caught him staring. But of course he was staring, Yusuf had stripped down to his shorts in anticipation of getting into the bath. 

“Should I … should I change?” he asked, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

“No. I don’t care.” Nicky crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Care to enlighten me about where you’ve been the past days? Why you didn’t deign to reply to any of my messages?”

He was hurt, Yusuf realized, and regret washed over him.

“I do care. It might just … take a while.”

“The café is closed, since neither Booker nor Nile had time to come in on short notice. I’ve got time.”

“You closed the café because of me? You shouldn’t have, Niccolò, it’s been your dream …”

“I closed the café because of myself” Nicky interrupted him. “After your sister came and talked to me …”

“My sister was there? She really had the nerve to …” Yusuf shut himself up, turned away and took a deep breath. This was not the right way to do it. He faced Nicky once more. 

“I apologize. I’m really glad you came here, I am.” He needed something to hold on to. He headed to the kitchen, but looked back at Niccolò to make sure he understood that he wasn’t leaving the conversation, only displacing it. 

“You’re right, I owe you an explanation”, he said, when they were both leaning on the kitchen counter, holding a glass of water each. “I’m …” He closed his eyes, fighting down all the emotion that welled up in him. 

“I have gone through a lot of heartbreaks. I couldn’t have gone through another one. I was a coward, I know, and I’m sorry.” 

Nicky stared at him, his hand holding the drink so tightly that Yusuf could see the fingertips pressed against the glass. 

“You think that’s it? You think you’re just going to tell me about your sad past and I’m going to forgive you for lying to me?”

“I didn’t …”

“Don’t tell me omitting the truth isn’t the same as lying”, Nicky interrupted him again. His brows were knitted together, not in an angry way, but in a close to crying way, and his lips were pulled into a grimace of pain. Seeing how much he was hurting brought Yusuf close to tears again, but he pulled himself together. The conversation right now was not about him.

“You _knew_ I loved you, because I told you so, and still you thought it was okay to keep that from me? Worse, you thought I would abandon you just because of these stupid magazine articles? Is that what you think of me?” Now Nicky was crying, and he wiped his tears away with an angry jerk of his arm. “Or did you think I wasn’t worth the trouble? Is that what you think?”

Yusuf withstood the impulse to touch him, give him some comfort. Nicky probably needed to get it all off his chest before they could properly reconcile.

“I’m sorry, Niccolò, I truly am.”

“I don’t give a fuck for your apologies”, Nicky said, still crying. “It fucking hurt, being thrown away like this, and it’s not undone just because you’re sorry.”

Yusuf felt physically pulled close to him, like an iron chipping to a magnet.

“I know. If there’s anything I can do to make it better, and to regain your trust, I will.” Yusuf took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm for a moment longer. “You just said that you loved me, and despite behaving like an idiot, I hope you still love me. Because I love you too, and I know I’ve been a coward and an idiot and I also know I’m repeating myself but …”

Now he couldn’t keep the tears back anymore, but he tried to ignore them as much as possible. Niccolò half extended his arm towards him, but pulled it back when Yusuf shook his head.

“… but you’re the best man I’ve ever met. I know I almost ruined it, because I was afraid of letting myself be vulnerable, but I promise I’ll change. I’ll be better, because you deserve a better man.”

Nicky looked at him for a moment. “Introduce me to your parents”, he said.

Yusuf swallowed down tears and wiped his eyes. “What?”

“You said you would do anything. Introduce me to your parents. After … all this …” He gesticulated vaguely, including their argument in the gesture, “… I cannot live a lie. I want them to know.”

Yusuf smiled in disbelief. “Does that mean you’re giving me another chance?”

“Idiot”, Nicky muttered as he kissed him. “I was never going to break up with you, and I would have told you so if you had just accepted my calls.”

Yusuf didn’t answer, instead he kissed Nicky again, wrapped his arms around him and felt the heat of his body underneath his hands.

“I missed this.”

“Me too”, Nicky replied, his voice muffled by Yusuf’s shoulder. “It’s time we’re moving in together, so you can’t pull that shit on me again.”

It was the evening of June 21st, the longest day of the year. Niccolò was in the kitchen to prepare the dessert – Crème brûlée, of course – while Yusuf set the table. They had carried it into the middle of the living room to make room for everyone, and now he was putting on his best table ware. There would be no room for flowers once dinner started, so he folded the napkins into the shape of brightly coloured blossoms.

The first guest to arrive was Amina. She came only in the company of two huge bags filled with the last ingredients for their meal, mostly antipasti that they hadn’t had the time to make themselves. Yusuf greeted her with a hug and a kiss to the cheek.

“Come in, sister dearest, give me those bags, they look so heavy.”

She handed him the bags, a small smile on her face while she studied his face. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she kissed him back.

“Where is he? I’m so curious to meet him properly.”

“Nicky is in the kitchen, come. He’s making Crème brûlée.”

“Hmm.” Amina groaned in anticipation. “If he doesn’t stay with you I might get myself a second husband.”

Yusuf laughed. “A propos, where’s Ahmad?”

“At home, with his children.” A mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Where he belongs.”

They entered the kitchen, and Yusuf put the bags on the kitchen counter. “Nicky, you already know my sister Amina. Amina, the love of my life, Niccolò.”

Nicky wiped his hand on the kitchen towel and held it out for her. She ignored it for the sake of a hug, tiptoed to kiss his cheek and smiled at him. “Welcome to the family, Nico.”

Nicky looked a bit confused but happy. Amina started to unpack the bags she had brought as the doorbell rang again. Booker and Nile were standing there, very pointedly not holding hands. They had brought the wine, three bottles of rosé to go along with dinner, three bottles of muscatel to go with the dessert, and the same amount of each but without alcohol for Yusuf and his family.

“Come in!” Yusuf smiled, and since this was such a wonderful evening, he greeted them both with a kiss, too. Nile leaned in happily and returned it, while Book looked at him like a stray puppy that had been given a scrap of food. Yusuf had just shown Nile to the living room, decorated with fairy lights and the windows wide open to let in the balmy air, and directed Booker to the kitchen to put the wine in the fridge when the doorbell rang again.

Andy and Quynh brought the flowers, three bouquets of pink roses and white lilies, the favourite flowers of Yusuf’s mother. He left it to Quynh to arrange them in the living room, because she had better taste than all of his family, except for Amira. He hadn’t even closed the door behind them when he heard the voices of his parents in the stairwell. His mother had had a little trouble with her hip since her fall last December, so Yusuf left the door ajar and hurried down the stairs to help her.

She looked like an older version of Amira, her back not as straight as it used to be, but her eyes still bright and curious. His father was a reserved man, though full of love he sometimes struggled to express properly. And yet he would do everything for his family, as he had already proven countless times.

Yusuf had only told them that he wanted them to meet some of his friends, and Amira would come because she already knew some of these friends. When everyone was seated – Muhammad beside Booker, as his clever, insightful Nicky had suggested, and Khadija beside Quynh. They started with antipasti and bread, followed by grilled vegetables, lamb cevapcici, grilled halloumi cheese with a delicious dip, and falafel as a main course, and the crowning course of the meal was Nicky’s Crème brûlée. With the wine and the good food, the atmosphere quickly went from friendly to cordial. As Nicky had foreseen, Yusuf’s father and Booker quickly discovered their mutual interest in antique books, Quynh and Nile had switched places so Quynh could talk to Amira about their shared interest in fashion, and Nile and Andy were quietly laughing about something together, their heads bent towards each other.

Yusuf caught Nicky’s glance over the length of the table and revelled in the way the light of the dinner candles made his eyes shine. Nicky nodded lightly, and Yusuf did the same. It was the right moment.

Yusuf gently hit his wine glass with the handle of his fork. It got quiet pretty quick, and eight pairs of eyes turned towards him. He took a deep breath.

“Mom, Dad.” He raised his glass to his parents. “Amira. Friends. Nicky and I have invited you tonight not only because it is always a pleasure to be in your company, but also because there’s something we want to tell you.” Another deep breath. Nicky’s smile at the end of the table, and Yusuf’s chest full of love for his friends and family.

“Niccolò is going to move in with me. We are going to live together, because we love each other.” He looked at his parents, anxiously searching for any sign of emotion in their faces. “Niccolò is my boyfriend. I want to be with him for the rest of my life.”

On the railing of the balcony landed a blackbird, and its song was loud and sweet in the silence. Khadija leant her head closer to her husband, put her hand on top of his and whispered a few words. Yusuf didn’t hear anything, he only saw her lips move – and then her smile, the gentle movement with which she patted his hand.

Muhammad rose from his chair and looked at his son. Yusuf wondered if he himself looked as much like their father as Amira looked like their mother. Muhammad took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He had always been a man of action rather than words, and so he left his seat, walked towards his son and embraced him so tight that Yusuf’s ribs cracked. He smelled like the aftershave he had used ever since he had left Morocco and come to Germany, a smell that meant home. He patted the back of Yusuf’s neck and whispered some words Yusuf couldn’t hear because his mother had started to clap. Amira and Nicky joined, and then everyone was clapping and cheering. Andy and Quynh kissed each other, and Booker reached over the table to squeeze Nile’s hand.

“And now”, Muhammad shouted over the happy noise, “now we celebrate! Music! We need music!”

Booker and Nicky pushed the table against the wall, Amira plugged her phone into Yusuf’s stereo, and they spent the next three hours dancing to a mix of music that reached from belly dance to hard rock. At half past ten, they turned down the music, and Quynh mixed cocktails for everyone, both with or without alcohol. The party was far from over, though, they still had games planned to keep their guests entertained. But for now everyone seemed happy with a little break. Book and Muhammad were talking on the sofa, Amira was trying to teach Nile and Quynh some belly dance moves and Andy was talking to Khadija.

So Yusuf slipped out on the balcony for a moment, and soon enough, Nicky followed him. They hugged for a moment, both quietly sharing their joy over the successful evening.

“Isn’t it a shame I’ll give up the place where we first kissed when I move here”, Nicky muttered.

“It is”, Yusuf agreed, and kissed Nicky. “But we can kiss here so many times more.”

Nicky smiled, but before he could reply, Andy opened the balcony door. “Come on in”, she demanded. “They’re setting up the board games, and I need to whoop Yusuf’s ass.”

Nicky laughed and pulled Yusuf inside. “I definitely want to see that.” Yusuf followed him, like he would follow him anywhere, back to their family.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART for Crème brûlée](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628825) by [shatterthefragments](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterthefragments/pseuds/shatterthefragments)




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